


divide the dream into the flesh

by Cunninglinguist



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Bodily Fluids, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fantasizing, Gratuitous Descriptions of Yusuf al-Kaysani’s Hands, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Somnophilia, Rimming, Scent Kink, Shameless Smut, Somnophilia, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cunninglinguist/pseuds/Cunninglinguist
Summary: Nicky doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that he’s been taken in his sleep.The persistent ache in his back tells him first, then the absence of the shorts he knows he’d worn to bed. If that weren’t enough, the unmistakeable smell of sex permeates the room, heavy and lovely and lingering.With an amused hum, Nicky slowly blinks himself awake. He’s still on his stomach, his preferred way of sleeping, and there’s a copious amount of drool darkening the light blue pillowcase beneath his cheek. It’s much more than usual, which means that whatever happened must have been very, very good.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 85
Kudos: 611





	divide the dream into the flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4108.html?thread=1289740#cmt1289740) from the gigantic brains over at the Kink Meme. 
> 
> Title taken from [Blood Milk and Sky,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KaU7BthmCmU) because I am never not listening to White Zombie and thinking about my ships. It’s also one of *the* hottest songs ever.

Nicky doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that he’s been taken in his sleep. 

The persistent ache in his back tells him first, then the absence of the shorts he knows he’d worn to bed. If that weren’t enough, the unmistakeable smell of sex permeates the room, heavy and lovely and lingering. 

With an amused hum, Nicky slowly blinks himself awake. He’s still on his stomach, his preferred way of sleeping, and there’s a copious amount of drool darkening the light blue pillowcase beneath his cheek. It’s much more than usual, which means that whatever happened must have been very, very good.

He flings an arm out for Yusuf, surprised to find nothing but cold sheets. It’s 8:30 in the morning, a reasonable hour for most people, and a little late for Nicky, but Yusuf? Waking this man before ten when it isn’t absolutely necessary is an offense that elicits a barrage of grumbled curses in ancient tongues, usually lobbed at Nicky for jostling him awake. 

Something had been important enough to pull his sleep-inclined beloved from their bed long before he was ready, and on his first day back at the safe house, at that. The night before, Nicky had waited up as long as he could, hoping to welcome Yusuf home after their brief time apart. They had decided it would be better to arrive here separately, so as to avoid making even the tiniest of blips on any radar so soon after their last job. 

This idea had made a great deal of sense in theory, at the time, but two days into Nicky’s week without Yusuf had him reconsidering everything, including the merits of rational thought.

The time had passed in a haze of small projects around the house, some half-hearted tweaks to his heavily modified Glock, six partially read books, and deep, wine-induced sleep. He’d been so excited to stay awake until Yusuf arrived, truly, but 2 AM found him tapping out, barely functional enough to turn off the television before sinking into oblivion. 

Apparently, in the six hours and some change between then and now, something unbearably erotic had taken place. 

With a sigh, Nicky rolls onto his back. He spreads his hands over his chest, moving them slowly down to his stomach, every nerve flickering to life in their wake. His breath catches in his throat when he reaches the hem of his soft grey tee shirt and finds it damp.

He dips his fingertips just below to graze his abdomen, eyelids fluttering. He curls and uncurls his fingers before gently cupping his half-hard cock. His hand comes away sticky. 

“Oh,” he whispers, a white-hot bolt of lust striking his belly at the sight. He sighs and lifts his hips to reach lower, behind his balls. He’s met with softness, wetness, and when he runs a finger around his rim, his low spine arches. Still so open, and so sensitive. He prods himself gently, cock swelling as some of Yusuf’s release trickles out around his fingers. 

His teeth catch on his lower lip as he palms himself, skin prickling with gooseflesh at the thought of what could have transpired. Yusuf must have come home desperate, hard, just _drowning_ in his need for Nicky. Nicky hadn’t worn anything particularly appealing to bed, just a pair of black boxer briefs and this tee shirt from their first Led Zeppelin concert together, now soft from years of wear, with a gaping hole in the armpit, but that hadn’t mattered. Yusuf must have been _possessed_ by the sight of him, deep asleep on his stomach, blankets kicked off, one knee perhaps drawn up, leg flung out to the side, the swell of his ass invitation enough. 

His Yusuf is a man of passion and intensity, an incontrovertible fact that Nicky has known and adored beyond measure for over nine hundred years. His urgent desire is a feeling that Nicky knows well, as he too experiences near-madness at the first sight of Yusuf after any length of time spent apart. Were their positions reversed, Nicky would have done the same thing. Still, the thought that this wonderful, beautiful man, after all this time, had been so overcome by arousal that he couldn’t bear the thought of wasting the time it would take to wake Nicky before claiming his body just about sets Nicky on fire. 

He spits in his hand and gives his cock a long, decadent stroke, thrilling at the sensation of their combined fluids slicking his hot flesh. What Yusuf’s long, lovely fingers must have looked like, curling into his waistband, peeling his underwear from his body with enough self-control to avoid waking him. How Yusuf’s eyes must have shone in the darkness of the bedroom, deep obsidian pools glittering with lust, breaths hot and damp on the backs of Nicky’s thighs. Perhaps he’d pressed light kisses there, only a few, to avoid rousing him. The incongruous nature of exercising such restraint when performing an act that required so little is so wonderfully _Yusuf_ that it tugs Nicky’s lips up into a smile.

The thought of his beloved’s hands comes to him unbidden, melting his mirth like frost in the sun. He shuts his eyes, lips parting around the beginning of a moan. Did Yusuf splay his hands across plush flesh to spread him wide, fingers tensing with want? Did his eyes linger between Nicky’s cheeks, devouring him a thousand ways in his mind? Yusuf loves to draw out the first touch, salivating at the sight of Nicky squirming before him, rolling his hips against the bed, whispering hot, desperate demands until he can control himself no longer. He savors this, too, Nicky’s silent pliancy, the salacious joy of having him at his mercy. 

Had he then leaned forward to put his mouth on Nicky? Perhaps it was only for a moment, just a taste, a tease. Or perhaps those talented hands had kneaded him further apart, so Yusuf could use his whole mouth, licking at his rim, plunging his tongue inside him, scratching the sensitive skin there with his beard. Had he made Nicky come on his tongue, guiding his hips to thrust blindly against the bed, or his hand, as he drooled onto the pillow and shuddered through his orgasm?

 _”Ah!”_ Nicky's breath hitches as the thought coaxes a hot bead of fluid from his cock. He wishes for one delirious moment that he didn’t heal so quickly, so he could feel the burn from Yusuf’s beard, or the residual soreness where he had been stretched, all physical evidence of his beloved’s voracious devotion. His Yusuf is a thorough, selfless lover, intent on bringing Nicky off once or twice or five times before they get to the main event, and this time would be no different. He always makes sure Nicky comes first. Always. 

Unless Nicky’s feeling competitive, of course. 

Nicky bites his lip, spine undulating continuously as he fucks his fist, thrusts beginning to mirror the hot frenzy of his imagination running rampant. God, how he longs to have stirred to wakefulness during this--there are few pleasures as exquisitely wanton as finding consciousness with his beloved on him, inside of him.

Had Yusuf spoken to him in hushed tones? He groans, conjuring Yusuf’s voice in his mind, an easy witchcraft after nine centuries of adoration and worship. “You look like the spoils of war,” Yusuf had said to him once, and on many more occasions. “My God, Nicolo, the way you look, the way you smell, the way you taste. I would die happy, suffocating between your thighs.”

Nicky’s hand stutters, his thigh muscles contracting. Fuck, he loves the sound of his Yusuf’s voice, especially when it's low and rough with passion.

“You look better than a feast, and I would gorge myself on your flesh until I am made to stop,” is another one of his favorites, memorable and frequent, usually preceding a gorgeous twist of deft hips, a toe-curling flick of his tongue, some sexual sorcery that had Nicky crying out for Yusuf as though he were God incarnate.

And perhaps he is--no man should have such power to drive Nicky this wild, especially a man who isn’t even present. With a shaky exhale, Nicky flips onto all-fours, hips high so he can touch his opening. Sweat beads on his flesh as he thinks of Yusuf kissing him there, insatiable. 

Had Nicky moaned in his slumber as his beloved licked him open? Had lust torn through his Yusuf at the sight of his drool-soaked pillow and parted lips? Had Nicky’s back arched into his touches, body succumbing to pleasure as though he were awake? He gasps, arousal flaring in his gut and licking up his spine as he simultaneously strokes his cock faster and rubs his hole harder. Knowing Yusuf, he had lingered here, eating him out until he was red and puffy and yielding, until he shook with his own desire, leaking steadily from the tip of his cock onto the sheets. Only then had he reached for the lube, dousing Nicky so thoroughly that syrupy fluid dripped onto his thighs, his balls, his cock. Whatever he’d done, he’d made a mess, such a lovely mess for Nicky to slide his fingers through, every touch an electric shock, a lewd recollection of an event memorialized only in Nicky’s body, his muscle memory. 

Nicky’s breaths turn to helpless sobs at the thought of Yusuf kneeing his thighs apart with enough force to bruise. Perhaps he draped his body over Nicky’s, rucking up his shirt so his belly could press against Nicky’s back. Possessive hands might have slid from Nicky’s shoulders down his biceps to his forearms, where they tightened, anchoring Nicky’s arms overhead, pinning him in place. Yusuf could have buried his face in Nicky’s neck, his armpit, his hair, inhaling deeply as he slid, hot and hard and aching, through the sloppy mess between Nicky’s cheeks before pushing in. 

“You are delicious, so divine,” he whispers in the theater of Nicky’s mind. “I could come just from the taste of your skin, the smell of your sweat.”

The muscles in Nicky’s shoulders strain as he presses a finger inside himself, the slight burn of that first touch inducing a full-body convulsion. He just knows that his Yusuf had him slow, deep, and hard, sliding the full length of his cock into Nicky before pulling all the way out, only to thrust all the way back in. He moans, brow furrowing in a moment of absurd, sex-crazed jealousy for his past self, the one who bore the brunt of such unrestrained desire. He loves the duality of his beloved, the warrior and the artist, passionate in both love and war.

A strained _Yusuf_ escapes Nicky’s lips as he plunges his finger in deeper. He adds a second, face contorting as he twists and spreads them in feverish pursuit of the place inside him that Yusuf finds easily. He thinks of Yusuf’s hands again as viscous pleasure slicks his palm, his thighs. If he had to choose his favorite part of Yusuf, he would not be able to, not truly, but his hands would come close. The same hands that have created words and art beautiful and delicate enough to evoke tears from the most hardened of men have also mercilessly wrested the final breaths from so many others who have stood in their way. They have caressed Nicky’s face with the sweetest of touches, taken his hand and held it dear, just as they have wielded the sword that had run through him time and time again. They have rested possessively on his arms, his wrists, just as they have wrung wave after wave of ecstasy that often borders on pain from his body, bringing him to heights of sensation that he had never anticipated knowing. They are powerful, just like his Yusuf, and Nicky whimpers against his pillow--he craves him, his touch, his closeness. He longs for lazy, love-drunk sex just as he burns for rough, covetous wrath, a fuck that yanks Nicky’s soul from his body with thrust after unrelenting thrust. 

Nicky’s so close now, desperately fucking his hand and bucking back onto his fingers, knees sliding in the sheets. He’s sweating profusely, shirt all but drenched with his effort, eyes squeezed shut, cheek pressed into the pillow as continuous groans of his beloved’s name fall from his lips like prayers. 

“Oh, Nicolo, the sight of you,” comes a hazy murmur, perhaps another figment of Nicky’s overactive imagination. There’s a noise, then Yusuf’s voice again, rough with lust, “That’s it, spread your legs wider, let me see, _fuck,_ let me see you.” 

Nicky’s eyes fly open, spine going rigid at the sight of his beloved, very much in the flesh, crossing the room with a maniacal glint in his eyes. He’s just come in from the outside, cheeks flushed from the cold, still wearing his leather jacket, a tray of coffees in his hand, staring between Nicky’s thighs with the desperation of a man who knows the permanence of death. 

“Yusuf,” whispers Nicky, shaking. “Yusuf, come to me.”

“I am here, ya amar.” In an instant, the coffees are abandoned precariously on the nightstand, and Yusuf is on the bed, kneeling between Nicky’s legs. “You have gotten yourself all worked up without me, will you now show me how you make yourself come?”

Nicky lets out a whine and grits his teeth as the molten heat of his impending orgasm pulses in his gut and dances up his spine, distress spiking his pleasure. 

“Oh, I know, Nicolo, I know.” Yusuf rests his cold hands on the insides of Nicky’s knees and gently pushes them wider, eyes glued to where Nicky’s hands are working frantically. “You can only do so much when your fingers cannot reach where you want them to reach, I see how your lovely little hole is hungry for so much more.”

Nicky curses, blood practically vibrating with need, and rasps, “Touch me, then, Yusuf.” 

Yusuf only exhales a laugh through his nose, then smacks Nicky’s ass hard, surging forward immediately to sink his teeth into the smarting flesh. 

Nicky’s entire body twists, stiffens, then his vision whites out as he comes with a series of heart-stopping gasps, hole clenching and unclenching around his fingers as Yusuf groans against him, fingernails digging into his skin. 

“You are so beautiful,” murmurs Yusuf, dragging his lips over every vertebra in Nicky’s spine as he tries to catch his breath. “Divine.”

Nicky sighs out his satisfaction before allowing Yusuf to help him turn onto his back. Their eyes meet right away, and Yusuf gives him a beatific smile before leaning down and kissing him. 

Nicky melts into him, suspended in the afterglow of his release and the euphoria of his lips. Yusuf pulls away, too quickly, and takes both of his hands to his lips. He presses a kiss to each palm before looking directly into Nicky’s eyes and sucking the fingers that had just been inside of him into his mouth. 

“Oh, dear God,” murmurs Nicky, gut clenching weakly at the sight. “How I missed you, ya habib hayati.”

“And I missed you.” Yusuf turns his attention to Nicky’s other hand, parting his lips to lick the release from each of his fingers with a contented hum. “Let me tell you, I am endlessly grateful that I decided to skip the farmers' market and come straight home instead, because that was...oh Nicolo, you are a vision when you touch yourself, an indulgence more sinful and exquisite than I could ever imagine.” 

“Well, perhaps I did not mean for you to see me like this, just as you did not mean for me to wake when you took me last night,” says Nicky, raising a playful eyebrow.

“What's a man to do, Nicolo? You looked ravishing, a feast of flesh, and I have been cruelly denied your sweet taste for so long. But it was so late already, and you looked so at peace in your sleep, so. Two birds, one stone.”

Nicky snorts a laugh, then gasps when cold hands quest below his shirt, rubbing through the sweat and semen on his belly. “Ah, your hands are freezing!”

“Sorry.” Yusuf smiles with his eyes and quickly extricates them, choosing instead to rub Nicky’s stomach through his shirt. “I just want to touch you everywhere.”

With massive effort, Nicky pulls Yusuf down onto the bed and flips him onto his back. Yusuf lets out a surprised _ouf,_ watching Nicky straddle his lap with wide, shining eyes.

“I love it, you know,” murmurs Nicky, nuzzling their noses together, sticky fingers slipping into Yusuf’s jacket. “Waking up with the feeling of you, the knowledge that you have used my body for your most depraved purposes…”

“Ah.” Yusuf sits up, allowing Nicky to push his jacket off before grabbing his waist. “Such filthy words from such a pretty mouth.”

“Do you know, talking isn’t the only thing I can do with this mouth,” says Nicky, leering. 

A peal of laughter escapes Yusuf’s lips. “Oh, is that so?”

Nicky closes the distance between them and plunges his tongue into Yusuf’s mouth, tasting coffee, the autumn breeze, himself, and his beloved. When their lips part, Yusuf’s gorgeous dark eyes burn like wildfire, and Nicky devotes the next several hours to showing his Yusuf all the things he can do with his mouth while the coffee that his beloved had risen early to get grows cold beside them.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you had as much fun reading that as I did writing it-- if you enjoyed, please consider tossing a comment to your friendly neighborhood smut peddler, every single one makes my day! 
> 
> You can find the blight upon the internet that is my presence on Tumblr dot com [here,](http://whoreschach.tumblr.com/) if you're into it.


End file.
